Observer of Beautiful Forms
by sara-cupcaked
Summary: Sara learns that sometimes one can go faster by going slow. Epilogue for A Right Kind of Wrong, but can be read on its own.


**A/N:** For Keegan Elizabeth - without her advice, rereads and the one world that inspired me to write this, this wouldn't have been possible. Epilogue for **A Right Kind of Wrong**, but can be read on its own.  
Disclaimer: Still not mine

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**_Kaleidoscope_**: Literally 'observer of beautiful forms', coined by its inventor Sir David Brewster, from the Greek word_ kalos_ 'beautiful' + _eidos_ 'shape' + _-scope_.  
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She loves the shifting colours of the sea – clear turquoise in the mornings, brilliant sapphire under the afternoon sun, deep blue in the evenings and black at night. And, for a few seconds each day under the bright sun, it's a shade she cannot even describe.

It's a colour that's so easy to look at but hard to define, familiar but mysterious, haunting but beautiful.

She stares and squints, her hands gripping the railing tightly. She searches her mind, trying to put a name to the beautiful blue that glitters below her.

"Hey," a voice behind her calls out and she releases the railing to turn around, trading the blue ocean for blue depths of another kind. Both are the exact shade as each other – wondrous, rare, perfect.

"Grissom," she breathes, naming the blue rather than greeting him. She shakes her head lightly and looks away from his eyes, only to realise—

"You're all wet," she says surprised, stating the obvious.

He chuckles lightly and runs his fingers through his damp hair. "It's a long story, but we managed to catch one very rare Xylocopa Darwini."

Raw wonder is bright in his eyes, like the glint his eyes used to hold when she first met him. His excitement is contagious, and she can feel herself smile.

"You came all the way here to tell me you caught an insect without going to change first? You must learn to prioritise," she says seriously, but her smile softens her words.

She relishes their playful banter, reminding her of their time in Vegas.

"Not just any insect - a Galapagos carpenter bee," he says, making her think about bees, bee suits and a proposal.

And getting stung.

He is still smiling, but she can tell by the barely audible melancholy in his voice and the subtle change of colour in his eyes that he is thinking ofthe same thing. Sexual tension always follows their playful banter, and she tries not to look away this time.

It's a new experience for her, to be the undecided one and not the pursuer.

Two months since he first arrived on board, two months of rebuilding their relationship, piece by piece. As he once said, '_sometimes you can go faster by going slow_.' Two months of talk and walks by the deck, nothing more.

Her love for him has never come with an on/off switch; but now, she is making him work for love, for a relationship, for_ them_.

His eyes revert back to its usual blue, and she stares, enthralled. It is like looking through a kaleidoscope, each tiny twist and turn of an emotion changes the hue of his eyes. She allows her smile to falter, and his eyes cloud. She steps closer, and they acquire a darker shade, reminiscent of the murky depths of the sea.

As a child, she owned a kaleidoscope once and had learned it is the mirrors inside that allow the illusion of a million shades and shapes. Without the mirrors, all that was inside were bits of broken coloured glass, and without the coloured glass, the mirrors reflect nothing. _One can function without the other_, her teacher had said referring to the mirrors and broken glass pieces in a kaleidoscope, _but not as it is intended._

She is close enough to smell the sea salt on his clothes and skin, so fresh and clean. Gazing into his eyes, she can see herself, and she tries to decode her emotions.

"Sara," he whispers longingly, his eyes growing even darker.

She steps even closer, close enough to see his eyelashes – made longer and darker by the water. She reaches forward to touch his cheek and he shivers; she isn't sure whether from the cool gust of wind or from her touch.

In an instant his blue eyes flash bright before darkening again, but she can't see what happens next because his lips are against hers, soft and welcoming. Months and months of longing lead up to this moment and she finally surrenders to it, tasting salt, passion and _him_ on her tongue.

When he pulls away, she is vaguely aware it is the same spot Dr. Phil Cameron had kissed her. His arms are still wrapped around her and she feels the dampness from his clothes seep into her, but the warmth of his body offsets the cold.

His eyes seek hers and they glow a bright, beautiful blue radiating happiness; and if she looks close enough, relief.

Not like Phil's right-but-wrong eyes.

Not like his wrong-but-right eyes of before.

This time, it's just right.


End file.
